Open Dance of the Warforged

Quzon celebrates someone's birthday!

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Not found on any map, Endrykas is a large migrating tent city wherein the horseclans of Cyphrus gather to trade and exchange information. [Lore]

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Dance of the Warforged

Postby Quzon on December 23rd, 2016, 5:09 pm

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1st Day of Winter, 516 A.V.
Morning/7th Bell

ooc :
I'm not one to do Open threads, but this is a special case.

This shall be a small thread where Q will be doing some dancing and bodybuilding. I don't plan for it to be a long thread, but its open for anyone who wants to witness it or make a small cameo into what is going on.

As the dawn broke, Quzon had already been wide awake to welcome Syna bring the new day. His campfire roared brighter than it usually did at such an early time. Normally he would only let it die down to embers, but preferred to have enough sparks to catch flame quickly. That meant he lived off of sporadic light naps, and waking up to add dry bundles of dense grassy thicket to the fire when it got low, but that was nothing new to him. It didn't really matter if you were in a dangerous jungle or grassland, truly restful sleep was a luxury one learned to go without to survive. But today wasn't about that. Today was a very special day to him that he always celebrated back in Taloba, Myri's day of birth!

At first light, the normally quite Quzon displayed a yell of maniacal fury, a harsh warcry filled his lungs with euphoria of exaltation in all meaning of the word towards Myri. He jumped in to the air as high as he could then stomped onto the ground, his bulky form rhythmically swaying from side to side as he clapped his hands. He moved his body to the beat of a million drums that he could hear within his mind, just enjoying himself.

Quzon was no dancer, but he had one skill that he knew he could use to aid him in the celebration. While his people were magnificent interpretive dancers, he had no grace for that, so he chose to try and emulate Myrian fire dancers.

"Your call to battle makes my heart want to dance! So I shall dance for you my Queen-Goddess!" He yelled in Myrian towards the sky while drawing his ax from his belt, then ran the palm of his right hand across the blade. He used his freshly drawn blood to paint all his weapons crimson red. He used the self mutilation for the sole purpose of turning his chakram, ax, and hunting knife into symbol that represent Myri, Blooded weapons. And after he was done, he placed each weapon around the campfire to form a makeshift shrine.

The genuine emotion he displayed while honoring the goddess who marked him caused him to smile. He used that emotion as a trigger to concentrate his djed, making each savage war cry as an incantation, and his outstretched hands to the sky to work as a gesture to urge his djed into flowing forth from his palms as ethereal glowing res. The res accumulated into an apple sized gaseous cloud floating a foot in the air above him.

Quzon slammed the heel of his foot down as he lifted the other to stand on one foot as he stared into the flames. He started to manifest his will through his res, a will that wished to be one with fire. And as a result, Quzon's res began to attract a stream of flame that ignited the outer layer of res in orange flame; He kept control of the fireball by leaving the center filled with res.

He never allowed it to leave his range of control, keeping the ball gravitating around his body two feet away from him. He glanced around to see a few people watching him; a pale man in a loincloth, bleeding from one hand, dancing with the grace of a bull, and playing with fire. In broken common, he tried to give them a reason for his madness. "Praise Myri! For it, her. First... life day!"

Last edited by Quzon on December 24th, 2016, 3:58 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Dance of the Warforged

Postby Konrad Venger on December 23rd, 2016, 9:26 pm

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He should have been getting his arse moving, to be honest. All sense and his body's not-so-gentle prodding were telling him to. His journey across the stirring tent city had felt like a trek across half the country, and for reasons Konrad knew well.

He was healing, but that did not dull his pain. His arm and shoulder were always stiff, or spasmed with random nerves still stitching and disobedient. His back was on fire when he woke and his stomach... that was worst of all.

Another day with blood in my shyke.

So that morning, he decided to do something about it. He knew of a white tent; Jonas had used it before, getting goods and supplies needed to patch him up before. That morning, Konrad dragged his stitched-and-stiff arse across Endrykas to visit it himself, spend his own coin.

He heard a healthy jungle as he limped along, less than before but still there, and still his. They hadn't pawed through his pockets and purse when they found him. He would have, that's for damn sure, but these Drykas, these particular Drykas...

Petching believers. Never make any...

Then he turned another corner and saw something tall, blue, bloody and dancing. With fire. Almost naked.

... sense.

Konrad blinked at a sight that was best described as "unlikely", at least in Endrykas. He wasn't the only one. A clutch of Drykas were staring at the big man, built like an outhouse, tramping and stamping around a fire while another, smaller inferno acted as his partner. Blood dripped down one arm. Konrad's gaze flicked down and saw weapons, crimson from hilt to blade... and he frowned again.

"Praise Myri! For it, her. First... life day!"

Broken as it was, Konrad could make out the word that mattered. That explained this fervent, bloody insanity... and he couldn't help his expression harden, then curdle in long-held disgust. Myri. Mother of the Myrians. Aye, he remembered stories of her. Jabbered drunkenly from a dark bastard with ink covering more skin than wasn't; waving his arms in front of the fire as he exalted her, crowed of her, she whose laws had probably sent him scurrying from his precious jungle. All the way to the other side of the world.

His father. May the gods rend him, wherever he be.

The herbsFrequency: Common, Frequency: Any Hills and Lower Mountains, Harvest Type: Perennial, Cost: 5 cm/1oz of dried root. Tolm has a strong scent and grows on slim, erect stems with long hairy saw-toothed leaves topped in summer by light red flower combs and bunches. It is most often used in teas or tonics to ease pain, aid sleep and relax aching muscles. L1 herbalism to identify and harvest. in his pocket rustled and crinkled as he shifted uneasily on his feet; he could smell the scent as parched rec combs were crushed inside the little bag his purchase had come in. Nehrar, the old Drykas... he seemed like a kinda man. Attentive to his duties as a healer.

Konrad blinked, felt a stab from long ago as an old, wrinkled face flashed before his eyes. Bessy was like that. A good person in a bad place. He shook his head and winced. Gods, that pain came back quick. He clutched his stomach and ground his teeth, raising hate to match the pain until... gradually... it faded...

And he watched the man. The big man who looked more Akalak than Myrian, but spoke with the accent of his father and, judging by his ritual, most definitely followed the Goddess-Queen.

War Gods. Horse Gods. Wind gods. One God. Dual Gods. Konrad felt around in his pocket for his pipe. World's crowded with the sods...

He knew the stream of folk on their way to work or play wouldn't be enough to hide him from view, but Konrad wasn't over-worried. He was just watching. Leaned against the side of a cart and winced vaguely as the aftershocks of the gripping, squeezing pain inside his stomach rippled through him... then left. His hands were even steady enough to pack his pipe.

Not much baccy left, though. Shame I can't smoke this Tolm stuff.

He watched the Myrian - which is what Konrad assumed he was, skin color or not - as he went cavorting about his little ceremony. Whatever he was, he also could use fire, could conjure it from himself and make it as he willed. Konrad wasn't one to feel kindred with any other soul, but a... shared curiosity, wasn't beyond him.

Not caring if the man saw or not, Konrad gripped the pipe stem betwen his teeth, then raised his other hand... focused, eyes going glassy for a tick or two as he dug deep and found that slow, strong flow pulsing in him.

Come.

Until he could will a little green-black worm of res out of his pointer finger, hovering over the bowl of the pipe-

Light.

Within a blink, the res was a burning like stick of flame, and Konrad sucked deep and steady as the tobacco was scorched. Thick, acrid smoke filled his grateful lungs, even if he did have to smother a cough or two. Then, when he was done, he shook his hand-

Out.

-and the flame vanished in a pinch of smoke. One hand holding his pipe, his other resting under his armpit, arm cross his chest as one leg was crossed over another, Konrad watched the Myrian across the way, eyes shaded yet glittering under the brim of his hat.

Receipt :
20oz of dried Tolm root: 100cm/1gm

||Common||Thoughts||Pavi||Fratava||Myrian||Other's Speaking||
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Note: As of Fall 517AV, Konrad is known only as "Hansel" in Endrykas
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Konrad Venger
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